pyrewood
by SebonzaMitsuki27
Summary: SeiferRinoa. 30 breathtakes. Witches are meant for burning.
1. scent

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 21_ – (**scent**)

* * *

She says, "I love you."

There is stillness and silence and whole other bunch of emotions raging underneath his flesh, but Seifer feels nothing at all.

(He feels nothing but her.)

(Eyes closed, eyes open; she's there, her scent wrapped around him like her favourite sweater.)

And all Rinoa says is, "I love you."

A breath, a sigh.

(Everything in between says differently. But Hyne, he's always been shit at reading subtext.)

And he can't say anything at all. Emotions that bolster in his confidence, his anger is just waiting to explode; he's a time bomb ticking, yet the seconds are passing him by.

"I love you, but I can't do this."

Tries to reach out, but can't. A flinch, rejection; and he can see the look of pain on her face before it's even there.

(He's always been good at hurting the ones he loves.)

"No, it's not that I _can't_, it's more like I _won't._" She doesn't have to say a damn thing, because all she's doing is suffocating the air he breathes. "I don't want to do this. Not anymore."

Words catch his throat, trapped like butterflies flitting into the night. And it must have been a breeze that shifts her scent so that he inhales her one more time, and Hyne, the words fail him.

(There's nothing he can do to set this right. After everything he's done.)

He wants to go back.

Back when he promised her the world and nothing less; back when they believed in fate and destiny, and anything was possible.

Back when it was him and her and nothing more than firefly dreams and when now meant forever.

Back when they kissed, crushed against each other, and that's all they needed to see the sun set, painted with twilight hope.

His heavy tongue begins to move and it tastes like blood stained nightmares.

"What happened to forever?"

(It's too late for tomorrow.)

* * *

Disclaimer: ffviii isn't mine.


	2. clear blue sky

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 26_ – (**clear blue skies**)

* * *

In winter, there is a sea of endless grey. Made of cotton and tasselled with black.

He can close his eyes and already see the lightning bolts strike away the snow. Ugly stains cover the beauty where she once walked.

She waves goodbye, and thinks that she'll never stop running. Even if she reaches a dead end.

In autumn, there is a purple cloak. Silk shimmers with a red-brown glow.

He only has to open his eyes to know that he is not alone, and feel the weight of her hand on his.

She lifts a red leaf into the cloudy sky, before letting the breeze carry it away; change is coming.

In summer, there is emerald gliding on gilded green. Linen and lace tremble, slowly discarded.

He can breathe and inhale her and feel like the world is at the palm of his hand, thanks to her faith in him.

She leans in and kisses him, and thinks that maybe dreams, fairytales can come true.

In spring, there is blue, azure in innocence. Polyester burns in freedom once mingling with feathered grey.

He sees her across the street and wonders if he's just seen the girl that he's been waiting for all his life.

She yawns and trips and stumbles, and when she sees him for the first time, she can't help but smile at the sky, clear for the very first time.

* * *


	3. sun on your face

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 2_ – (**sun on your face**)

* * *

Jubilant, bubbling, and spinning, Rinoa laughs, feeling the sun warm up her face.

There is sand on her legs and water splashing all around her.

It feels like freedom, feels like she's able to breath for the first time since forever, away from control and being pampered like a caged doll.

Away from her father.

And she smiles, caught in the moment, giggling as the ocean foam rises and sinks like a heartbeat trapped in a fleeting second – because if it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't even be _here._

"Seifer! Come and join me, the water's lovely!"

She can hear him murmur an agreement, and she can tell that what he appreciates isn't the scenery.

* * *


	4. wind in your hair

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 1_ – (**wind in your hair**)

* * *

She remembers the promises that Seifer had made to her, the _countless_ promises that were like shooting stars – from the minute they fell from his mouth, she had been so sure that they would come true.

"_One day, I'll be a knight."_

"_One day, we'll be dancing against the stars."_

"_One day, I'll take you to my flying castle. And wherever we go, we'll be happy."_

And then she'd looked, drawing in a breath as she saw nature, birds, the salty smell of ocean waves, felt the wind blow through her hair, and she'd laughed – then, a second ago, because what he said _came true!_

She is in a flying castle! Floating, floating, like those stars destined to fall.

As she spins round, she still can't believe it, and then—then she sees Squall, looking at her with bemusement.

Reality crashes around her, and her smile fades.

Because Seifer isn't here, ready to take her hand and lead her through his enchanted castle.

* * *


	5. you look pretty in a dress

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 12_ – (**you look pretty in a dress**)

* * *

Squall knows that this girl is graceful, dancing so prettily as if she is the foam of the sea, adapting playfully and sticking her tongue out when the mood takes her fancy, flightily flitting through the crowd, waltzing to a tune of her own, that is far deeper than anybody realizes.

And when she walks away from him, he feels clumsy and out of balance, oddly hollow.

Swears that stardust falls onto the ground that she has stepped on; figures that his mind is merely playing tricks.

Then he sees her, dancing with someone else, and this, Squall _knows_, is not an illusion.

Her smile is warm and soft, like fireflies floating up in her bubbles of laughter. She twirls, he dips, and their movement is flawless, in sync. Black shimmers, cascading like a waterfall, her love splashing all around her. Gray smothers her, protectively, possessively, but the effect only makes her more ethereal.

Her eyes see no one but the person that she is dancing with.

Her partner treats her with care, with just a dash of reckless danger. And yet, there is something… different… in the way that he regards her, cyan eyes subtly softening. It isn't much, but it's there.

And this is—

(love)

(happiness)

(kismet)

—beauty.

* * *


	6. the look in your eyes

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 3_ – (**the look in your eyes**)

* * *

He loves her. He does.

But he just can't show it the way other people can. Hyne, he's _not_ other people, and maybe that's the reason why.

When it's him and her, alone, together at last, he can say these things – be the person he really is.

When there are other people besides her, there's an impulse to create havoc and rile them up – shouting with swords and making them miserable.

It's her.

_Her._

And she murmurs quiet things in his ear, says _it's alright, it's alright._ Because she gets it; she understands. (Except she doesn't. Not really. Except she does. Really.)

It's just the way love works out for him, manifested in the cruellest of forms that it physically hurts.

He can fight, give people black eyes and break their arm, but all she wants is for him to look at her.

Then she knows. Then she smiles.

Because the look in his eyes says everything that she needs to know.


	7. body language

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 9_ – (**body language**)

* * *

"So what now?" The words are softly broken and hollow, desperate for the answer in the suffocating silence. "What now?"

And the silence stretches on for what seems to be an eternity.

But still, the silence is enough: arms cradle a fragile body, breathing in silk hair and listening to the beat of a heart; and they don't know which is louder: breaths or heartbeats, silence or thoughts.

It's like they're trying to drown in each other, absorbing this moment before it's too late.

Skin and flesh and warmth alone, sweat and tears mingle, immersed for this fleeting, fleeting memory.

"I don't know." The words finally come. "I don't know."


	8. hands

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 10_ – (**hands**)

* * *

It hurts. Rinoa knows that she's going to get bruises from his tight grip alone. Maybe he doesn't know his strength. Maybe he doesn't know what to do.

… maybe.

"Seifer! Stop it!" It's worth a shot, trying to reach out to him. Because… this whole _thing_ has gone too far; and even she can see it spiralling out of control. "Haven't you done enough!?" And she hoping, hoping, _hoping_ that her words are enough. "I know you're not like that!"

Seifer smothers a laugh. Feels like swallowing blood back down his throat.

The world—_his_ world—_his romantic dream_ is crumbling before his very eyes, and all he can do is tremble and hold onto her.

Because… she's all he's got.

"Can't go back now! I can't go back anywhere!" These words choke him, and invoke his desperation; broken mirrors shatter into shards. Who is he now, the boy or the man; if both have succumbed to delusion? "The sorceresses as one!" He doesn't believe in this mantra. All Seifer is doing is chasing broken circles. "That is Ultimecia's _wish!_"

Step.

Step.

Sorceress Adel stands before them, eyes gleaming. And he feels sick like he's already a rotting corpse.

"… Seifer." That's all she says.

And really, what else _can_ she say?

Nothing… nothing will be the same. Nothing will be _right_.

Ever again.

But she's trying, trying, trying and he thinks, as he swallows down his hysteria, that maybe…

"… Seifer. No more… please?"

… that maybe she's right. Give up. Let her go. Listen to her. Tell her… tell her that he's sorry. That he never meant for things to be like this.

It—it was a dream, right? And that dream turned into a nightmare. And that nightmare turned into reality.

"Rinoa…"

He's scared, (Hyne, so scared), but he's going to slacken his grip, and release her from—

"_Seifer! __**No**__!"_

Damn Puberty Boy.


	9. singing voice

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 25_ – (**singing voice**)

* * *

Rinoa never sings.

Hums a short melody, chants a phrase so beautifully that it could _almost_ be considered music, and sometimes shouts and screams till she's blue in the face, but she never sings.

Because she's afraid of sounding just like her mother (and as the seconds go by, she can't remember the sound of Julia's voice except on the songs that she barely listens to these days.)

Seifer bluntly tells her that she's an idiot, that he knows the difference between Julia Heartilly and Rinoa Heartilly.

Tells her that she doesn't need to sing to be special, to be Julia Heartilly's daughter – she can fight, and it's like a damn dance that's better than words can ever describe – tells her that whatever she does, Julia will probably—definitely be proud. And besides, Rinoa's got him, right? What more does she possibly need?

She rolls her eyes and walks away, playfully pushing him.

Rinoa never sings sober.

But when she does sing, slightly tipsy and semi-aware that her voice has become husky, she wonders if she's lucky enough to hear Seifer join her.


	10. amazing kiss

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 15_ – (**amazing kiss**)

* * *

Squall is not like Seifer.

There's ice instead of fire; cool ardour instead of hot passion.

Squall is the calm in the storm, rain washing away fire; Seifer is the tempestuous storm, lightning crackling at every twist and turn, explosions in the sky.

With her white knight, she feels safe, trapped in a blanket of security, and while once she treasures the security, now she feels trapped by the soft cotton fabric; with her black night, there's sparks and danger and a feeling of never knowing what's going to happen next, the idea of anything being possible.

When Rinoa is with Squall, she feels the ground, quiet and there, but somehow, it's binding her to something she doesn't like. Feels like eternity, cold and grey.

When Rinoa is with Seifer, she feels fireworks, scintillating into the sky and shedding light like exploding stars. Feels like a burnout, fun while it lasts.

Squall scowls, Seifer smirks.

Both hands find hers.

But when she pulls away from her kiss, both of them like a fever on her mouth, all she sees under her closed eyes, is the smirk of a falling star.


	11. you're good at what you do

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 8_ – (**you're good at what you do**)

* * *

He doesn't know how she's done it.

He doesn't know how he let it happened.

Every footstep, every blink, every turn – there's the ghost of her, imprinted to his shadow, as if Rinoa's really there.

She's… _done_ something to him. Not like Edea, not like Ultimecia. Something far, far worse. Like she's ingrained herself to his very subconscious, breathing beside him and she won't go away. Not like those dreams, gone the next day. Not like those revelations that fade away in the dead of the night.

And then Seifer turns, knowing instantly, that this person _isn't_ part of his mind.

Rinoa. Rinoa Heartilly.

Standing right before him.

He doesn't even realize he's spoken her name until she steps forward, and it's only then that he notices that something's different about her.

"Hi Seifer." A half-smile graces her face, wilting before it's fully bloomed.

Then he knows.

That she's felt the same: this distance between them a slow burn, breaking every fibre of resistance, until they're unable to handle this stalemate any longer and the both of them are far too close and temptation has never been able so damn hard to resist.

"… why?"

"He isn't you."


	12. letter

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 6_ – (**letter**)

* * *

Rinoa thinks about him.

Sometimes. Often. All the time.

And the 'what if's and 'maybe's.

She stares at a piece of blank paper, lying perfectly white in front of her, untouched by ink.

There are so many things she wants to say… questions, possibilities, apologizes, reunions… the list goes on and on.

But at the end of the day, everything remains unsaid and the letter is never written.


	13. the view from here

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 28_ – (**the view from here**)

* * *

She never sees him; he never intends to be seen.

Standing in the shadows, hidden under a shower of ever-falling leaves, he watches her, arms crossed, his pose that of the confident youth he used be – under delusions of grandeur. Back then, he would have done anything – Hyne, he _tried_ to do everything. Too big, too much.

Back then, he would have tried to have given her world.

Right now, he would try to give her world.

But he's not as idealistic as before, not so stupid, not so foolish, and though he might have already traded his soul, he'd given his heart to her long before.

And the possibility of them ever being a 'them' again seemed impossible.

No, he could waltz in, with his swagger and his smirk, and he could steal her away; but now, at this moment, as she bites on her lips nervously, and never breaks contact with her beloved, Seifer can see that she's happy.

Maybe that person can always make her happy.

He'll never know; because when it was their turn, he wasted it; and he's not going to dwell on it.

After all, he only came to get his heart back.

And Rinoa looks as radiant as ever, cheeks flushed, and gracing a brilliant smile, as the distance closes as the vows come to an end.

When she turns around, ring heavy on her finger, Seifer is no longer there.


	14. jewellery

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 20_ – (**jewellery**)

* * *

Rinoa has lived in elegance and finesse all her life.

Walk proud, stand tall, hand on hips: she lives in the world where only appearance and façades matter, cotton candy trees growing at the mere mention of money. Daddy pampers her and she relishes it, loving the knowledge of having him wrapped around her little finger. Any sparkly jewellery she sees, any dress she likes, with a charming smile and sugar-laced voice, and her desire came true.

But then Seifer appears, relaxing on a park bench, surrounded by pigeons, a faint smirk just about visible on his crooked face.

Just a vision: glowing through the sinking sun… and there's such serenity that it knocks her off her pedestal.

When she works up the nerve to talk, he brushes her off; lazily, a sardonic drawl that shows evident amusement. So, she sits besides him, and watches the sky like never before. It's never seemed to matter before, never seemed to change. And yet, today's sky was different to yesterdays, a deeper blue, a lighter red, a mockery of stars chuckling above them.

And it takes time, for this relationship to grow, takes interest and care, and falling from her superficiality like an angel loses her grace, and Rinoa fell.

In love.

Because—while she had always accepted this lifestyle she lived, she craved for something more. And Seifer gave it; let her experience emotions that ran right through her, emotions that she had only thought possible through romantic novels.

But… Daddy didn't like her change, her growth from the person that she used to be. His gifts and presents seemed more for the sake of appearances and desperate attempts to revert her back. And irritation grew, that world was trapping her, she threw her jewellery on the ground, ripped her dresses because she was so _sick_ of trying to be _perfect_ when someone accepted her for who she really was.

So, maybe, Seifer doesn't give her gifts, doesn't give her pretty necklaces or bracelets or teddy bears or chocolates… and that's okay.

It doesn't matter: his confident smile and his mere presence is more than enough.


	15. in the snow

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 4_ – (**in the snow**)

* * *

"Here." Seifer says, tossing a present into her open hands. "I got it for you."

"Mm?" Rinoa smiles, shaking it and lifting it up, wonder if she can make the wrapping paper transparent if the present attempts to touch the sky. "What is it?"

"Open it, you daft girl. Don't just stand there and be a damn pixie." It's a mixture of a scowl and smirk and a smother of red flush that makes Rinoa giggle at him.

"I'm sorry; would you prefer me to make a snow angel instead?" She can't help but tease. "If you asked very nicely, I'd change the shape of these snow flakes just for you."

"I'd _prefer_," Seifer replies, enunciating every syllable clearly, "if you just opened the damn gift." But he doesn't push it, merely watches her.

"Fine, I'll open it, you impatient man!" The carefree sorceress laughs, taking care to make the pretty wrapping paper as untarnished as possible. "Oh, Seifer…" Rinoa can't help but breathe out in amazement, the material soft and smooth and like rose dust in her hands. "It's wonderful. Thank you."

Her smile widens, gracing her pretty face.

"Thank you so much."

It must be the cold that makes his cheeks warm up.

"It's nothing. Now, put it on."

"Yes, my Knight." Rinoa teases him, a mischievous smile on her face.

And so, she loops her polka dot scarf around her neck, as she finds her place with him.

Maybe it's his imagination, but he swears that with every snowflake that falls, it's tinged with a different colour.


	16. vibrant colours

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 29_ – (**vibrant colours**)

* * *

There came a time in which she saw nothing but rainbows, vividly striped across the air.

There came a time in which all she saw was _him,_ grey and blonde and green painted across speckled white.

There came a time in which she saw nothing but blue and black and a shimmer called hope.

There came a time in which all she saw a swirl of red and gold and twisted ivory clinging to choke.

Now all she sees is a dismal watercolour view of the world, because everything is drenched in misery because the boy, the man – of grey and blonde and green painted across speckled white – is gone.


	17. in the rain

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 18_ – (**in the rain**)

* * *

The change is noticeable at once, to feel the rain dripping down her soaked clothes and drenched skin.

Rain, rain, rain and then—shelter?

She's not under any building for that kind of thing. So… who?

A pause; and a smile spreads across her face. A flicker of his face flashes in her mind, but she doesn't turn around just yet.

Waiting for the moment is essential, and it's their game that they like to play.

"Someone ask for a knight in shining armour?"

Seifer.

And then she can't play it any longer, whirring round and meeting her lips with his, soaking him clean through with her wet clothes, giggling all the way.


	18. intoxicating

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 24_ – (**intoxicating**)

* * *

Pursuing a dream and making it reality is harder than he thought.

To walk the path and not look back; to stand still and reflect; to trace the footsteps and not look forward – these are the decisions he made.

And somewhere along the way, he lost… everything.

The _dream_, the _reality_, the _willpower_.

Even… even Rinoa. The girl who he'd passionately—

How had it gone so possibly wrong, when all he had done was pursue a dream?


	19. tangled in the sheets

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 13_ – (**tangled in the sheets**)

* * *

The sunlight burns Rinoa's eyes, and it's all she can do to snuggle deeper into her warm duvet covers to muffle a shriek.

"Rise and shine, princess!"

Okay, _that_ was odd.

Propping herself up, the girl yawned, ignoring her ruffled bed hair, surprised by his invasion – she'd recognize that voice _anywhere._

"Seifer? What on _Hyne _are you—"

"Get up." He interrupts, tapping his foot impatiently, arms folded against his chest. He's in a hurry. "Come on, now. We've got a train to catch."

"Wait, _what_?" Laughing, she tumbles out of bed, cotton pyjamas hidden by her duvet, wrapped around her petite figure.

"I'm leaving, and I'm taking you with me." It's a simple statement, and Rinoa can hear the determination in it.

And she stands up, letting the duvet fall, and she tries her hardest to stifle a giggle (and her own embarrassment) when she realizes that Seifer is flustered and can't quite look at her in the eye. But her smile refuses to go away.

"Seifer…"

"It's not every day that I kidnap you to Timber is it?"


	20. asleep on the sofa

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 23_ – (**asleep on the sofa**)

* * *

It's dark when Seifer enters his apartment, and he only switches on the lights dimly, shedding as little light as possible, but enough to gain a bearing.

And he sees her, raven locks fanned out of the sofa, and a batch of home baked cookies, the smell wafting to his nose.

He turns the knob to shed more light, but not enough to wake her… and when he does, he can't help but be reminded of Snow White.

Pale skin. Ebony hair. Dark lashes. And he can't forget the kissable lips.

There's a sofa instead of a glass case, but then, Seifer's never been a stickler to the details. Part of him indulges in the thought of waking her up like the fairy tale, and another part wants to let her be.

"Seifer…" Snow White murmurs, the name passing through her lips like a blissful sigh, her clothes rustling against the sofa.

Unable to resist any longer, he leans in, his breath close enough to be felt… and places a blanket on Rinoa.


	21. pretty in pink

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 16_ – (**pretty in pink**)

* * *

Seifer is not impressed. Maybe a little. But not much.

"I look," he enunciated clearly, slowly and distastefully: "_stupid._"

Rinoa only grins impishly in reply, white teeth gleaming, rose-red unfurling on her skin, and considers the words she is going to say next carefully.

"Don't be silly."

His mouth twists, barely holding in words he'd rather not say to her face.

"Wear it for me, pretty please?" She persists, narrowing the distance between them only slightly.

But it's enough.

"… _fine_." He shouldn't do this – really, really, _shouldn't_ give in, but—

"Thank you – thank you – thank you!" Rinoa cheerfully says, embracing him and pecking his lips in one quick swoop.

Really, Seifer smothers a scowls as he reciprocates, the things he does to make her _happy_.


	22. in silk

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 11_ – (**in silk**)

* * *

It's soft and sleek and slips away so easily.

Love is a box of chocolates, wrapped up in the finest of spider made silk.

When the time comes, will they shy away?

Or will they open it… and find a velvet centre?


	23. soft whisperings

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 17_ – (**soft whisperings**)

* * *

Friends. Lovers. Enemies. Allies.

They've gone through so many definitions of their relationship that Rinoa doesn't know what to call them any more.

"What are we?" She whispers, dark eyes fathomless, childlike in wonder and love.

The words _Sorceress_ and _Knight_ mock the corner of her mouth, just daring to be said. That is who they are, to the outside world.

But _here_, in the intimate world of where only they know… what are they?

And his hand laces with hers, mouth grazing her skin, never growing sick of the taste.

"We are Seifer and Rinoa – and that's who we'll always be."


	24. sunrise

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 27_ – (**sunrise**)

* * *

When she wakes up, that's the moment when everything registers.

_He's gone._

And yet she still can't believe it.

_He's really, really gone._

Seifer.

_Just when I realized—_

Bursting into tears, the sun taunts the new day, brilliantly iridescent.


	25. while in the shower

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 14_ – (**while in the shower**)

* * *

It's a simple smirk that sets off Rinoa's hot flush, heat quickly rising off her cheeks.

"It was an accident okay? I didn't mean to but I… slipped—and, uh… not all the dye… remained in the bottle." Flustered, the words come out in a jumble, first too fast and then too slow, alternating in pitch. Her hands cover her hair, ivory tangled in raven black.

He can barely refrain a chuckle, but somehow manages to do so.

Tilting his head, he gently coaxes her.

"Let me see."

"But it…" Rinoa's mouth puckers into a pout, but she does as he says. "… I think it's awful. And it's totally visible – it's so _embarrassing_. When Zone and Watts find out—"

"Rinoa." His lips curve only slightly, barely able to be discerned; interrupting her tirade and allowing her to breath. "It looks good."


	26. flushed cheeks

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 22_ – (**flushed cheeks**)

* * *

_Come on, remember a year ago we…_

… fell in love.

… spent every day living like it was our last.

… threw popcorn at the actors in the theatre, sharing a joke that no one else understood.

… merely watched the sky, and let birds fly above us as the boat gently rocked as the waves pushed back and forth, and we talked about nothing before the fish caught the bait.

There are so many ways to finish that sentence, but it's even more horrible to leave it hanging.

And really, Rinoa hasn't forgotten a second of it, even if she doesn't want to hear the end—

It's too soon.

The memories are consuming her, rebuilding the dreams that should be reality and not—

_Stop it!_


	27. soft lips

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 19_ – (**soft lips**)

* * *

He's here.

Here to help – here to save—

—her.

Because it's _Rinoa._

And he—_likes_ her. Has always liked her. Ever since her dimpled smile spread across her pretty face.

Because in his romantic dream – in any version or adaptation – Rinoa is there, beside him. Living the dream.

So she murmurs, ghost-voice in his ear, lips just as soft as he remembered—

_Help me, Seifer. Only you can do it._

That's why he's here.


	28. the way you walk

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 5_ – (**the way you walk**)

* * *

Ice swirls, a messy explosion whittling on in her empty glass.

Rinoa has always been fond of smoothies, with freshly cut strawberries on the side; can't help but slurp noisily on water that is hardly there.

And the door opens, and that point exactly – where the bell chimes, the footsteps echo heavily on her heart – is where it all starts.

Because Rinoa likes the way he moves, the way his hair is like some sort of burnished halo, the way he gleams from the sunlight, revelling in his own confidence.

Maybe it's this reason alone is why she looks away coyly, before her eyes flick back to him when she knows he isn't looking: he's attractive, and she doesn't even know his name.

But this person, stranger, is wonderful. Simply because he is in a room and everyone can feel his presence.

When he walks, she's sure she's not the only person who's eyes rake over him.

And he stands out, because it's like—

Like he can take on the world.


	29. orange sunset

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 7_ – (**orange sunset**)

* * *

They never talk when the sun sleeps – neither knows why.

It's just something they do; a tranquil sort of silence coming over them as they watch a burning star sink into the barren land, or sparkling ocean, wherever they may be.

A journey, their dream these days, to explore the world and see how mundane things can get, talk to the people. Because the world never stands still, and even if they visit one time, the next visit is never the same. Something's changed: it just takes longer to realize it, to discover what the difference is. And sometimes it's worth not finding out, and sometimes it is, but they never know until they know.

Sorceress Rinoa and her Knight, Seifer Almasy.

Both wonder what people will say, the rumours in the present, the faded whispers in the past, and the legends in the future.

What will they be renowned for?

So they keep moving, the world keeps talking, and their story keeps growing.

Passing it like a dream, stuck in place where happiness is found; the sun burning as it extinguishes a joyful goodnight.


	30. i watch your back as you walk away

_**pyrewood**_ – _theme 30_ – (**i watch your back as you walk away**)

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"So…"

"… yeah."

This is it.

Their crossroad, their summer romance, their adventure… has come to an end.

"If you need anything…" Odd, how reluctantly the words seem to form, though he means well. "… don't hesitate to let me know."

"I promise." She promises to herself that she won't cry when he looks at her, but just might when he turns away. "Take care, alright?"

"You know me, I always do." A confident smirk flashes, and Rinoa can't help but smile foolishly.

"Seifer, I'm serious!" Mock frustration, Rinoa stamps her foot.

"Alright, alright. I promise." And he means it.

One last kiss before it's finally goodbye – sweet and soft and bittersweet and passionate and hope for the future.

"Goodbye Seifer."

"Goodbye Rinoa."

They don't know why, they don't know when, they don't know how, but they know that they'll see each other again.

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**a/n.**_ Thank you for reviewing, it's been wonderful writing this._


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